In the early days after the fall, Pelorian survivors were rallied by Dramar and his followers, a large band of werewolves, weretigers, and other lycanthropes who saw an opportunity to take control and create a kingdom where their kind could live and prosper, not hunted as had been the case under Pelor. The Were-King, as he was called, had subjugated the surviving Pelorians under his rule, and the “Kingdom of Beasts,” as Shardis was originally called, had prospered for more than two centuries. Dramar’s heirs had not been as enlightened or civilized as their progenitor, and the young kingdom turned on itself in a civil war, humans against the were-creatures, until Dramar’s granddaughter Sharda, herself a werewolf, had put an end to it.
Lycanthropes were part of life in the Southron Empire that bore Sharda’s name, but except for her direct descendants, they were forever barred from attaining any position of authority. The ability to become wolves had eventually bred out of the Emperor’s line, though they were still rather wolfish in their habits and appearance, they were now nearly as human as the majority of their subjects.
Or so it was said. There were stories that indicated otherwise. It was said that one day the descendants of Dramar would become wolves again and the Empire would conquer the world, but so far that hadn’t happened. Whatever the truth of that, the Southron Empire used Aliera’s cycle of twenty-six days to count their months.
Other races, and some human nations, used wildly different calendars. The kossir-teh, for example, dwelled underground for the most part. They used a year of varying length depending on circumstances and events, so it was difficult to calculate time using their reckoning, to say the least. In contrast, the immortal faerie didn’t bother keeping track of anything longer than one lunar epicycle, so anything beyond thirty years to them was “long ago.”
Qan continued, “Of course, that’s if we cross the doldrums without much trouble, lad. If the hand of Bes is against us, we might take a lot longer, indeed.” He stomped his foot twice on the deck upon mentioning the Lady of Ill Luck.
Alan and Snog both echoed his stomps, neither of them liking anyone mentioning the Fell Goddess. Alan’s education had taught him that Bes stayed busy at her work no matter what people said or did, and that mentioning her name to keep her at bay, or avoiding using it to keep her at bay, mattered little. It was Sterath, the Lord of Fate, one should worry about offending; Bes hated everyone equally. Still, it seemed like tempting doom to speak her name on a ship, especially since the time of Dalshana was rapidly approaching. The dark moon spent six parts in seven of its time in orbit of mighty Lushran, coming close to Tieran for two 26-day periods annually, once around the New Year, when Dalshana was always full in the middle of her orbit of Tieran, and once at Mid-Year, when she was always new at mid-orbit.
As this pass would be Mid-Year, the dark moon would be all but invisible, circling the Tieran-Lushran pair with its darker side facing inward. Only when it crossed another body’s path would it be obvious, and then only with sharp eyes or a magnifying device or spell. Five more days until Dalshana crosses over from Lushran’s orbit to Tieran’s, Alan thought. Vedelta protect and preserve us as we sail the seas. Tysleth carry us safely across the waters and land us on Verra’s shores.
Vedelta was an earth and sky goddess, a daughter of M’Shara and Rula Golden, and he didn’t know how much influence she had at sea. The Lord of the Waves, Tysleth, was nearly as fickle as his brother Ashira, but was known to accept a libation if given earnestly and presented with a proper song. For that purpose, Alan had bought some of the pear brandy his mother had loved and planned to sing the Seafarer’s Prayer at the stern railing that evening while he poured the brandy into the sea. He’d let the chief mate know his plans, and he expected a number of the duty watch would join him with their own offerings. The mate had simply asked him if he knew to sing it properly and took Alan at his word when he answered in the affirmative.
In his life before the assassination attempt, Prince Lian hadn’t been very religious. He believed in the gods—in his view, only a fool or the insane didn’t—and attended their services as expected of a Prince of Dunshor, but he hadn’t prayed very often or very fervently. That had changed considerably in the months after the coup, only partially because he’d had a vision of the goddess of vengeance, Dalgarin. That was a religious wake-up call, to be sure, but he’d found comfort in prayer that little else could bring him.
In Seagate, among the supplies he’d purchased he’d acquired two religious texts by well-known Dunshorian theologians, one from the time since the rebellion—Amar Tyrell—and one from the earliest days of the Theocracy, when Krysa’s white magic teachings were still followed. The author of that older text had been lost to antiquity, but the words of devotion and service to the gods had struck a chord within the grieving prince.
“How much freshwater are we carrying?” Alan asked, surprising the captain. The former second mate had helped Yardin the quartermaster many times with his calculations, but the freshwater supply wasn’t typically something most land lubbers thought about.
“More than enough, Alan,” Qan replied. “The longest I’ve ever been becalmed in the doldrums is three weeks, and we’ve far more water than that. We might have to ration the food, but it’ll be enough. This time of year, the winds are usually fairly strong, so we should make the crossing to the south easily.”
The captain’s somewhat patronizing answer annoyed Alan a little—he’d been asking after how many barrels of water, not an assurance there’d be enough—but he smiled and thanked Qan anyhow.
“You’re no stranger to the sea,” the big man commented. “You’ve got your sea legs already, as does your friend here.”
Alan nodded, not wanting to volunteer any unnecessary information, but knowing that the fact he’d served on Searcher had probably reached Indigo Runner, he didn’t bother to hide it. “I served aboard Searcher, Captain Qan,” he said. “I’ve family business in the Empire, or I’d be there still.”
Qan nodded knowingly, assuming, as Alan intended, that “family business” meant an inheritance. “Some ill fortune for others brings good fortune for you, eh?” he said with a conspiratorial air.
“To be honest, I’m not sure what kind of luck or fate I’ll meet in the south,” he replied. “I didn’t receive much information about it, just someone to ask for when I reach Kavris.”
“An advocate, no doubt,” Qan said sagely. “One who’s paid to take care of the legal formalities, I mean. And no doubt, he’ll take more than his fair share, once you come down to the brass pins. Could be as I know an honest advocate in fair Kavris, Alan, so be considering the wisdom of a second opinion, as it were.” The greedy merchanter clapped him on the shoulder gently and went astern.
“That’s not the last we’ve heard of his friend the advocate in Kavris, milord,” Snog said. They’d decided to drop the pidgin he’d been using in public, since they’d been together long enough it was likely the goblin would have picked up passable Dunshorian.
Alan agreed. Qan probably did know an honest advocate or two in the Empire, but he rather thought that the one he’d introduce would be the opposite. “Good thing we’re not actually inheriting anything, isn’t it?”
“Still, yon captain’s a greedy sort, milord,” Snog observed. “We’d best watch our step when we get to the Empire.” The goblin had already decided Qan wasn’t trustworthy and probably was tied into the underworld in Kavris. In his opinion, kidnapping Alan and torturing the details of his inheritance out of him was a possibility they needed to consider.
“Yeah, it was a mistake to imply we’ve inherited something down there,” Alan said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should have said something about retrieving my father’s sword or something.”
Or just not told him anything, he said silently to Gem. Elowyn taught me better than to improvise when I’ve no need.
Gem performed the mental tic that signified a shrug between the two of them. It’s not much of a danger that he thinks you mig
ht be heir to something down south, and it’s better than him wondering what you’re the heir to up in the north. We’ll watch your back when we disembark and until we’ve departed Kavris, don’t worry.
Alan nodded. “Well, Snog, we’d better figure out what we’re going to do for a month,” he said.
“Well, milord, some of the boys were playin’ at sixes last night when we boarded, though they was quick to hide it when the officers came around. I’ve always thought I’d want to start learnin’ the cups and rods myself,” he said with a sinister look in his eye. In fact, Snog had picked up a real talent for the game on Searcher and had profited by his skill at throwing the long slender hexagonal rods.
“Don’t get yourself knifed over it,” Alan snorted. “Discipline’s not as tight on this ship as on Searcher.” He didn’t mind if Snog entertained himself by fleecing the merchant crew some, so long as it didn’t become too much of a problem.
“Have faith, milord,” Snog said. “I’m still workin’ on the best way to lose without looking like I’m trying to lose; the buggers don’t have to worry about me takin’ too much o’ their money.”
“Heh,” Alan chuckled. “Until voyage end, you mean.”
“Well, I can hardly let ‘em win forever, now can I?” Snog said with a grin to go with the gleam in his eye. “But don’t worry milord, it’ll be brass ante, ye can be sure of it.” Meaning that he’d be playing for brass bits and copper pennies, not anything high stakes.
“You have my full trust and confidence, scout,” Alan said with a little bow, standing over to the bowsprit and inspecting the tackline. Shaking his head, he noted, “This is an odd way to rig her up, no doubt.”
“How so?” Snog asked. As healer’s mate in addition to his duties as one of the Searcher’s siege engineers, he hadn’t learned much about how the warship had been rigged. He was too small to get the kind of leverage on the hawsers needed for rigging duty anyhow, despite his surprising upper body strength.
The forward end of the lateen boom was secured to the hull below the forward port railing by a double-tackle assembly so it could be loosened or tightened against its load. The rope was tied off on a slot through the boom just a few feet over their heads. Three-quarters up the length of the boom, on the other side of the mast, the brace line went over a flying block suspended from that point. The result was that on the deck level the afterline could be balanced against the forward brace line as needed. Only a quarter of the way up the boom was another flying block, though this one was empty of any lines, and at the far end of the boom was a line and tackle identical to the tackline at their end.
“I can’t see why they have the ability to invert the boom,” Alan said, gazing up at the rigging. “It’s too long to haul over the mast to reverse it; they’ll have to let her run with the sail flattened against the mast on a port tack, and she’ll lose a lot of headway when that happens.”
Shaking off his curiosity for the moment. “Well, I’ll have plenty of time to learn why they’ve rigged her this way on the voyage, won’t I?”
“Aye, that ye will, milord,” the goblin replied.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
It’s the little things that often make the difference, thought Celewyn as he strode along the Avethiel strand. He’d been delayed by the Silei patrol he’d encountered in the forest, though he’d done his best to avoid the patrolled areas. His headlong, magic-enhanced flight through the wood on a horse that was run near to death had roused their suspicions, and he’d been held for three days before convincing them that his intentions were no danger to the Silei. He could have slipped away from his guards, but that would have compromised him throughout the Silei-controlled forest, and if they’d sent a description of him ahead to Avethiel, he’d have been arrested there.
But the delay had cost him dearly, for Prince Lian had departed the elven port headed southward on a merchant spice-hauler called Indigo Runner. He didn’t know for a fact that Lian was aboard the ship, but it was the only one to have departed the city in the time since Searcher—still in dock—had arrived.
That, and the fact that frog balefully pointed south and out to sea.
The tall, blonde Avani elf was nearly a thousand years old, with the patience born of such a long lifespan, yet he found himself suppressing a curse at the luck. He could easily have bought passage on the ship along with Lian and had plenty of time to make himself known to the prince in such a way to gain his trust during the month-long crossing.
Now he would have to buy passage southward, try to overtake his quarry, and then find him in the south. Talking to some of his old friends and contacts among the Avethiel Avani, the assassin had ascertained that one of the slender elven ships, Iliuthien, was headed south in just four days after taking on provisions and cargo and the passing of the first night of Dalshana’s approach. The elven ship would make a faster crossing than the lateen-sailed galleon, so at least he should be able to get ahead of Lian and arrange to meet him when the ship arrived.
With a silent apology for his earlier temptation to complain, Celewyn blessed the Lord of Luck, for Iliuthien, whose name meant Three Stars, was captained by another Avani, so arranging for passage would be little problem. Iliuthien’s captain was likely to grant him passage just to annoy the Silei if for no other reason, and given that his financial reserves were low, that might be a good thing to exploit. He had just under four days, then, to find out what he could about the prince’s alias and what he’d been up to since the assassinations. He had three good charms for clouding the mind of an inebriated man, and all of them were subtle enough to pass notice, at least to the unwary. He could ask about Lian without Searcher’s crew even remembering he’d done so.
It wouldn’t work on their wizard, of course, and he’d have to be careful to do it out of that one’s sight, but the spells left no significant traces on the subjects, so he wasn’t too worried about being discovered. A worse problem was the certitude that he’d be using up a lot of his remaining coin buying drinks.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
Celewyn is here? Ammon thought as he carefully vacated the boisterous tavern to avoid the blonde elf’s notice, his heartbeat pounding. There were many Avani elves in Avethiel, of course, but it was definitely the master assassin. Rishak’s purse is deeper than I thought if they hired him. The elven assassin was notoriously selective about his patrons, and the Usurper wasn’t the sort that would usually pass his muster, so the Easterner thought the price must have been high, indeed. He tried to decide if that would mean Rishak would be more or less generous with him when the time came to deliver Prince Lian’s head to his thronehall.
No matter, he thought, putting that out of his mind, as it was far beyond his control.
But how does Celewyn know to be here? he pondered intently. And more importantly, how does he know to question the mercenary crewmen?
Ammon was almost certain that no one but him knew anything about Lian’s tie to Searcher. He’d been hidden under whatever protection was blocking hostile scrying—and Ammon presumed, hidden from direct detection spells—and operating under an illusion in Mola. Ammon had only found out where the ship was likely to call because he’d found the ship’s former navigator, the ill-tempered little man named Ylen. Even an ancient vampire like Sileth of the Silks was unlikely to penetrate such protections as the prince seemed to boast, and even if she had, why would she care about a renegade prince of Dunshor? No, this was something else.
With a chill of apprehension, the assassin-mage thought, They’ve discovered how to pierce Lian’s Veil, and they hired the elf to make sure it counts. That means it’s something they can’t easily reproduce…and it can’t be something they can pinpoint him with, or they’d have just sent a cadre of wizards in on flying beasts or via apportation and it’d be over already.
Shaking off his worry about not getting the payoff, Ammon started thinking analytically. I can’t track Lian, but Celewyn apparently can, he thought. So if I can spy on or track Celewyn, I might gain an opportu
nity. It would be challenging to pursue the elf undetected, but not impossible. And if he could determine Celewyn’s method of following Lian and obtain it for himself, now that would be an advantage!
Chapter Ten
The Age of Kings began after the fall of the Pelorian Empire as the powerful who survived the cataclysmic events each sought to establish their own empire in miniature. Many of these kingdoms lie now on the dustheap of history; others exist in greater or lesser form today.
Not every kingdom was called such, nor the ruler a king. Duchies, counties, realms, city-states, and more varieties besides dot the maps of the northern and southern continents alike, for the most part beholden to none but themselves.
Many of these nations are brutal and barbaric, their noblemen—hardly noble—hanging onto power by force of arms, but some arose as beacons of light in the darkness, centers of civilizations between expanses of dark barbarity.
One such, of course, was Dunshor.
-- Excerpt from “The Age of Kings,” Philosopher-Queen Tarridyn’s great work on the history of the Sharan nations
Indigo Runner appeared to be making fairly good time on her journey southward, and the sea leagues passed beneath her keel with a regularity that Alan found reassuring. The farther from Dunshor, the better, and lesser the chances he’d be discovered by the assassins that no doubt continued to search for him.
He hated that he was forced to rely on the marble-sized Key of Firavon to hide from them; it would be so easy to lose it in any number of ways. But even with both Gem and Lord Grey’s magical knowledge, native ability, and skill, protections from magical divination were never completely effective, and the resources of the great kingdom were available to Rishak and his queen. Without the artifact’s mystical shroud, he had no doubt that one of the scryers in his aunt and uncle’s employ would be able to find him quickly. He only hoped that his aunt and uncle were overspending the treasury on finding him rather than consolidating their rule in other ways.
By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2) Page 13
